


Echoes

by InsaneTrollLogic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneTrollLogic/pseuds/InsaneTrollLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron sits in the dark, surrounded by the echoes of his dead friends and wonders where it all went wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> ...aw man. This fic is circa 2004. Originally posted to ff.net. Which means it predates Half Blood Prince. Maybe I should have just let this one be eaten by cyber hell.

He can still see them sometimes.  
  
He calls them the echoes because he knows they can’t be ghosts. He remembers at least that much from theory of magic—ghosts have a clear distinct features despite their translucent appearance but the echoes begin to fade. You can walk through ghosts but the echoes evaporate the second he touches them, so fast that he isn’t sure if they are even real.  
  
With ghosts you have conversations, but echoes just repeat the past. He doesn’t mind. He likes the past. He lives there because he has no future. He stopped having one the minute the Boy Who Lived became the Man Who Died. (How did Harry die? He can’t quite remember.)  
  
Harry echoes sometimes, talking about the good fight and how hard it is to be the hero.  
  
He thinks he’s got it worse now.  
  
Harry’s echo is fading faster that the others; eyes dimming, features blurring, scar’s shape changing just a little. (What side of Harry’s forehead was the scar on? Why couldn’t he remember the side?) He knows he blames Harry (the real Harry, not the echo) because without Harry, he’d be safe back at Hogwarts, he wouldn’t be in the dark.  
  
Dumbledore’s echo tells him to stay strong, that they were doing all they could, that they wouldn’t dream of leaving him if he were caught. That they would come if something went wrong.  
  
And something did go wrong.  
  
They said they’d come for him, but they’d lied. No one is coming.  
  
And the longer Dumbledore’s echo stays, the more hollow the words sound and soon he wants the echo to just fade already because he can’t take the empty words of hope.  
  
Hermione’s echo tells him not to be stupid and he is suddenly terrified because he doesn’t think Hermione is dead, but she has an echo all the same. He’s ashamed that he enjoys this echo’s company because it means the real Hermione must have suffered.  
  
Snape’s echo sneers at him and he’s suddenly convinced that he deserves this.  
  
Draco’s echo, bloody and disfigured seems to say, ‘This is your fault.’  
  
Ginny’s echo apologizes endlessly, but he can’t for the life of him remember what she’s apologizing for.  
  
Percy’s echo won’t stop screaming.  
  
Sirius echoes too, though not as loudly as the others. He thinks it’s because Sirius was the first one to die and it had taken him by surprise. He knows there is nothing he could have done, no way he could have seen it coming because the first one is always a shock.  
  
Sirius's echo talks about getting revenge and he has to wonder exactly who he needs to get revenge on.  
  
Remus’s echo is the voice of reason. Reminding him how to fight. Telling him there is a better world out there.  
  
Voldemort isn’t an echo.  
  
The echoes get louder when he comes; more demanding, more instant. The ironic thing is, with Voldemort the light comes. Voldemort breaks the darkness by bringing a single torch with him and for just a second, he looks at him like he is the savior.  
  
Then reality sinks in, and for the briefest moment, he can acknowledge just how bad off he is. His hair is long and dirty, hanging over his eyes in dark red clumps, what he can see of his arms is a dark purple bruise, his robes are in tatters. He looks up, because somewhere along the way (in between playing the hero and becoming the prisoner), he’s lost that fear of Voldemort that had haunted him through his childhood (or maybe he just stopped caring about death.)  
  
The question is always the same: “Where can I find them Weasley?” (That is his name isn’t it? It feels like it’s from another lifetime.)  
  
He stares into red eyes and imagines the fires of hell.  
  
Percy’s echo is screaming  
  
He says nothing.  
  
“Come on Ron,” the voice changes tones and becomes almost friendly, “all I need is the location of the Order of Phoenix.”  
  
Malfoy’s echo hovers behind Voldemort, reminding him of his ultimate fate.  
  
“Or better yet, the location of Harry Potter.”  
  
And he suddenly remembers the fidelius curse—wonders how the hell he managed to forget about it in the first place.  
  
Sirius echoes in his head; plots of revenge on the person responsible for betraying the Potters twenty year ago.  
  
Hermione’s echo babbles about history’s tendency to repeat.  
  
Ginny’s echo sobs, aiming her wand at his throat. _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”_  Her face hardens.  _“But, you knew there was a mole. And I’d slipped up before. You should have seen this coming.”_ Light comes off of the wand and he winces, squeezing his eyes shut, anticipating the hit.  
  
And when he opens his eyes again he remembers that Ginny is just an echo, but it still stings. In a sick twisted way he understands why she did it. She loved Harry and he’d just kept turning her away. She’d finally broken and turned back to Tom Riddle.  
  
The voice is dangerous now. “Tell me where Potter is.”  
  
But Harry is dead. He remembers seeing the body, but not how he died. He tries to remember, but he just can’t.  
  
Dumbledore’s echo talks about mind control—various curses that effect memory.  
  
“WHERE IS POTTER!”  
  
And for just a split second the whole picture is clear to him and the echoes disappear. It’s just him against Voldemort. He knows everyone has a breaking point, he just hasn’t hit his yet. So he draws himself up, cracked ribs grating against each other and fixes an unnerving stare on his captor. “Go to hell.”  
  
The answer comes immediately: “Crucio!”  
  
He can’t hear his own screams of pain because, the echoes are back, screaming at him, taunting him, encouraging him, cursing him.  
  
After what feels like eternity, it stops and Voldemort leaves. He feels the slightest twinge of regret because that means the light is gone too, plunging him back into a world of unyielding darkness.  
  
He stumbles forward to bang on the bars in the futile hope that someone would come and rescue him.  
  
He hears voices, real voices, coming from the other side of his prison, “How much longer do you think he’ll last?”  
  
“I thought he was going to break yesterday, and the day before that,” the second voice confesses, “but he hasn’t.” He thinks he hears disbelief in the tone. “He’s been talking to himself for months, but he hasn’t told the Dark Lord anything. Stupid kid.”  
  
“But he’ll break,” says the first voice again, though there is no confidence in the statement. “They all do.”  
  
“Oh yeah,” affirms the second voice. “He’ll break.”  
  
But Ron knows they’re wrong. As long as he knows that there’s still a world outside of his own little slice of hell, he won’t break.  
  
Because he can still see them sometimes.  
  
They echo.


End file.
